Teeth
by shouldsleep
Summary: Dean gets struck with a curse that reveals his insecurity. Luckily he has friends and family to help him deal.
1. Chapter 1

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making any money from this.**

**Dean gets struck with a curse that reveals his insecurity. **

**Part 1 of 2**

Sam was already awake when the coughing started- discreetly scrolling through the revealing photo shoot of some actress whose films he'd never seen. He jumped a little, feeling guilty although technically he wasn't doing anything wrong. He glanced over at his brother's sleeping frame, jealous at Dean's ability to seemingly switch off his brain at night and immediately fall asleep.

The coughing persisted, and Sam was about to tell Dean to go and get a drink of water already, when he heard the squeak of rusty bedsprings as his brother scrambled into a sitting position flinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. Dean's face was bright red and his hands groped at his throat.

His brother was choking.

"Dean!"

Rushing across the room, Sam thumped at his brother's back, desperately trying to clear his airway. When that didn't work he pushed Dean to his feet and stood behind him, arms around his brother's waist. Thankful for the first aid course he'd taken in high school, he performed the Heimlich manoeuvre, sighing with relief as something small flew out of Dean's mouth and rolled along the filthy shag carpeting.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know…" Dean finally gasped, lying exhaustedly back down on the lumpy mattress. "I just woke up coughing, and then I couldn't breathe. Thanks Sammy, I owe you one."

Sam bent down and picked something up off the floor; small and white with two perfectly intact roots- a tooth, probably a back molar judging by its size.

"Holy shit, it's one of your teeth!"

"What?"

"Open your mouth. I can see a gap on the bottom left near the back, it's not even bleeding- it just looks like you never had a tooth there."

Dean shrugged, it was weird but he saw weird things everyday, and a missing tooth wasn't exactly supernatural.

"It's almost seven, why don't we get something to eat at Mom and Pop's and you can check the yellow pages for a dentist."

Dean shrugged again, but got up and pulled on his jeans and a shirt and followed Sam out the door.

"May I ask why you're still holding my tooth, Jumbo?" Dean asked when they entered the diner.

"I'm going to stick it in some milk to preserve it; maybe the dentist can reattach it."

"You are so weird."

After ordering two black coffees for themselves and a glass of two percent for the tooth, Sam started talking about a spirit in a Delaware Laundromat that had sucked three people into washing machines and sent them through the spin cycle.

"Maybe you can do a few loads when we get there, Sammy. You must be running out of tighty-whities by now."

Sam flipped him the bird and took a sip of caffeine. Their meals arrived a few minutes later, delivered with a smile by a kind faced older woman- likely 'Mom'.

They ate quietly for a while, enjoying the homey food and relaxed atmosphere of the diner. They knew their diners, seeing as they ate in them more often than not, and this was a good one- the food was hot and fresh, and refills on the coffee were free- unlike their last pit stop experience which had involved a very large fly embedded in a pancake, and a very disgusted Sam.

Dean had just swallowed another bite of scrambled eggs when he coughed and spit something into his napkin; wiping it off, he showed it to his brother.

"Another one? Dude, that can't be normal."

"Thanks Einstein, I wasn't sure if my teeth were supposed to fall out or not," Dean snarked, dropping it into the glass to join the other molar.

…

They were sitting in the Impala outside of a drop in dental clinic when Dean's two front teeth spontaneously fell into his lap. A minute later he spat out an eyetooth and three more molars.

There was some blood this time, so he packed his mouth with fast food napkins and put his seatbelt back on.

"If I go in there I'll end up as a case study in 'Anomalies of Modern Dentistry'- I don't need a dentist, I think this is more our kind of thing."

"So… back to the motel?" Sam guessed, as his brother gunned the engine and cranked up the music.

…

"Find anything?" Dean asked for the tenth time, calling out to his brother from the confines of the dirty motel bathroom.

"Unless you have a sudden onset case of scurvy, then no, but I think my plan of saving the teeth was wrong… all these tooth fairy legends basically say that if anything supernatural gets a hold of your pearly whites… well it's not good."

Dean came out of the bathroom and flopped back onto the bed by the desk where his brother was bent over his laptop.

"I guess you can add these to the salt and burn pile," Dean lisped, setting down a glass filled with at least a dozen more teeth.

"Shit, man. Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine, Sammy. Let's just fix this."

Sam spent the rest of the day clicking through site after site, following every link that even remotely applied to his brother's situation. At seven o'clock he switched off the computer, blinking against the eyestrain, and stood up from the little desk to stretch his legs.

Dean was looking through their dad's journal, a wet rag in his mouth to soothe his bleeding gums. A quartet of incisors had recently joined the other teeth in the glass, and he was feeling a bit depressed.

_What if this is permanent? _

He couldn't go around flapping his bare gums to witnesses and victims, lisping and spraying spit and undoubtedly disgusting everyone around him.

How could he go out in public with a freakish old man-baby mouth? Play mute? Was he going to have to invest in some dentures?

And what girl would fall for a toothless guy? His megawatt smile was his best feature, or so he'd been told, and his cockiness was part of his charm. How could he be confident like this?

But they would find an answer- they always did, so there was no point worrying about what ifs.

"C'mon man, I'm starved. Let's get something to eat," Sam said, interrupting his reverie.

…

"At least get a milkshake or something. You haven't eaten anything since this morning- you have to be a little hungry."

Dean was feigning a complete disinterest in eating, not even picking up the menu. Sam acknowledged he could have been a little more sensitive in his restaurant selection and not picked a steakhouse, but he was tired of greasy diner food and it wasn't like his brother could eat much at Mom and Pop's either.

"They have a chicken soup… or you could get a side of mashed potatoes."

"I'm not hungry, Sam. Let it go."

"I'll pick up some meal replacement shakes at the convenience store- to keep up your strength. I need you in peak condition so we can fix this," Sam babbled. He was trying to sound optimistic, but the day of researching had turned up no real leads and he was starting to feel a little discouraged.

"_If _we can fix this," Dean muttered, taking a drink of his beer and cursing when some of it dribbled out of his mouth. 

…

The next morning Dean woke up, experiencing the brief joy of ignorance before his brain roared to life and the events of the previous day came flooding back. A quick slide of his tongue over mostly smooth gums confirmed that nothing had changed overnight, and he felt a little disappointed that this hadn't been a freak twenty-four hour type deal.

"How's the mouth?" Sam asked, peering at Dean from over his laptop.

His brother flashed him a nearly toothless grin, with a sarcastic 'thumbs up' thrown in for good measure.

"Okay… we just have to figure out what caused this, and we have to do it fast. The first forty eight hours are crucial."

Dean wrinkled his forehead incredulously.

"I'm not a missing child, Sammy."

"I know, but some spells have a time limit, and if they aren't reversed quickly…"

"If they aren't reversed quickly…?"

"They can be permanent," Sam said quietly.

Dean rummaged through his bag for some clean clothes, not meeting his brother's eye.

"Why don't you go grab something to eat- I'll be in the shower," Dean said in his _I don't want to talk about it_ voice. "Then we can hit the library."

"Sure, man. I'll get you some eggs."

…

A week later they were no closer to finding any answers. Both brothers had taken turns pouring through their dad's journal, and looking through huge stacks of dusty volumes at the local library, not to mention Sam's nightly marathons on the laptop.

Dean barely ate or slept, lying awake at night listening to the clack of computer keys, his mind too full of questions and uncertainty to sleep. He refused to go out for meals, so Sam would bring takeout back to the room and try to get his brother to eat what Dean disdainfully referred to as 'mush'. Sam tried to keep their spirits up, but one-sided banter was sort of like dancing without music, so most of the time the room was silent.

Both boys were losing hope.

"We can't stay here much longer. The manager said our American Express and Visa have both been declined, and I couldn't exactly give him a card in another name. I say, we hit the road and start backtracking to all the places we were before this happened. Maybe we'll find a lead."

Dean nodded and started shoving clothes into his duffel. He was speaking less and less, communicating mainly through looks and gestures. Sam knew he was self conscious about his mouth, but the silence made the situation so much worse. He missed his cocky, pain in the ass brother more with each passing day.

They spent the next week backtracking; reliving the previous month of their life in reverse, revisiting case sites and looking for some seemingly insignificant detail that would turn everything around.

…

Dean's mood seems to improve. He starts talking again, it's just meaningless chatter about day to day stuff, but Sam is relieved at the return to a semblance of normalcy.

Dean's eating almost enough to satisfy Sam, and he even agrees to go out to the bar when his brother suggests it. They have a few rounds of beer, and play a couple games of darts, and for an hour or two it feels like old times. Then the bartender that's been making eyes at Dean all night gets off shift and comes and sits on the stool beside him.

She gazes at him over the edge of the glass as she sips her beer, licking her lips suggestively. Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, his joints are well oiled by now and he's up for a little flirting.

They exchange cliché pickup lines for a while before she reaches in for a kiss. Dean thinks it's going to be a peck, but her tongue snakes into his mouth without any warning.

"What the fuck?" She pulls away, looking disgusted and grabs her purse off the counter.

"Wait, I can explain," he protests, not entirely sure what he's going to say.

"Don't bother, I don't do freaks."

Sam stands up suddenly, his stool squeaking at the sudden movement, he steps toward her and opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but his brother grabs his arm and mutters something about not making a scene. The girl heads over to the rowdy group of bikers watching some game or other on the big screen, without so much as a backward glance, and Sam starts to say something but Dean cuts him off.

"It's okay, man, she wasn't even my type." Sam raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, relieved his brother doesn't seem upset.

Dean slaps a few bills down on the counter and starts ordering shots.

…

He keeps telling himself that this day will be the one.

This state.

This town.

He's been hanging around on Main Street all day of the latest town in the string they've revisited, asking questions and following up with the old woman they'd saved nearly two months earlier. She insists on loading him up with baked goods but doesn't give him any answers, and he heads back to the motel, the familiar ache of disappointment settled deep in his chest.

Sam comes back late one night with takeout. Dean isn't in one of his usual spots (desk or bed) so Sam checks the bathroom.

The door's ajar and he's about to tell his brother to come on already, that the food's getting cold, but the look on Dean's face stops him. He's staring at himself in the mirror; cool and appraising, like he's surveying a crime scene or something. He's not just staring; he's looking- he's _really _looking. He opens his mouth in a fake smile and then relaxes his face back into a neutral expression. The last of his teeth have fallen out, so the bared lips reveal only pink gums and empty space. He covers his mouth with one hand and smiles again. His mouth smiles, but his eyes are so empty and dead looking that it scares Sam.

"Dean."

Dean whips around with a start looking like he just got caught jerking off.

"Dude, a little warning. I don't even know how you can sneak up on me with those ginormous clown feet of yours," he says easily, the vacant look vanishing from his face as quickly as it had appeared.

They eat the Chinese food, and make small talk, and then Sam turns on his laptop and Dean gets into bed. It's only eight o'clock, and he can't be that tired, but Dean rolls over to face the wall. Sam wonders if he can still just switch his brain off and go right to sleep, but he no longer envies his brother.

It's time to call Bobby.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making any money from this.**

**Dean gets struck with a curse that reveals his insecurity. **

**Part 2 of 2**

The ride to South Dakota feels like attrition.

Both boys know that this is a last ditch effort, and that if Bobby can't help, they might just have to live with the curse.

Sam tries to cheer his brother up with gummy worms when they stop for gas in Valentine, Nebraska. They remind Dean of the peanut M&Ms he can no longer eat, but Sam is really trying, so he thanks his brother and they complete the drive in a sugary haze.

Bobby's standing by the gate when they get there; as the impala edges onto the lot he turns to fiddle with an abandoned carburetor propping open the gate as though he is merely puttering around, not waiting for them to arrive.

Sam is glad to see him. Bobby is the only person left who cares for Dean almost as much as he does. He's also the only one who can help.

Dean seems more relaxed at Bobby's. He laughs at the older man's stories of other curses he's come across; grateful he doesn't have to live with an eye on his forehead or a permanent erection. At least he _looks_ normal- until he opens his mouth, that is.

The three of them pore over the books in Bobby's massive collection, focussing on sections on curses and bodily transformations. By the end of the second day, Sam has a headache and they are no closer to curing Dean.

He is quiet again, and barely touches his food; Sam is worried but tries to remain upbeat for Dean's sake, making jokes and bantering with Bobby for his brother's amusement. Dean responds with closed lipped smiles that don't reach his eyes, and Sam can almost see the wall he's building to shut them out- or hide himself away.

Bobby doesn't need to be a psychic to feel the tension and hear their unspoken words. He ploughs through volume after volume of Latin text, and makes chitchat with the boys, but doesn't offer false hope. He doesn't guarantee that a solution will be found, or that there even is one to find- he stopped making promises years ago.

At three in the morning Bobby's old bloodhound Nixon wakes up with a start and howls. Bobby grabs his sawed off and runs down the hall, checking to see that all the salt lines are unbroken. He flips the porch light on and relaxes when he sees that it's only Dean, pacing around in the darkness.

"Good way to get yerself shot, ya idjit."

Dean smiled and shook his head, "I didn't mean to wake you. I was just… I don't know."

"Yeah you do. You were feeling sorry for yourself."

Dean opened his mouth to deny it but Bobby cut him off.

"You're allowed a certain grieving period, Dean. We might not figure this out, but you and Sam will go back to doing what you do best- killing evil sons of bitches and saving innocent folk. You don't need teeth to blow a zombie's head off."

Dean nodded; he knew Bobby's words made sense. The curse wasn't life threatening- it didn't keep him from hunting… he knew he was being stupid… but he just couldn't get over it.

It was hard to explain.

"I like to hunt, Bobby, you know I do…"

"Yeah, and…?" The older man was curious, unsure of where Dean's thoughts were headed.

Surely this curse wouldn't make him stop hunting? It was in his blood, and Bobby knew that he was never happier than right after finishing a case. Saving people, hunting things… it was the only life he could imagine for Dean Winchester.

"Yeah, but every once in a while I like to forget that and go out to the bar and just be a regular guy; drink a few beers and play some pool, pick up a chick that's sex on legs and take her back to the motel. Be normal for a few hours."

Bobby nodded, seeing the problem.

"I can't do that anymore… I'm a freak."

Dean knew that Sam would tell him he was wrong- that he could still do those things, that not everyone was shallow and judgemental, that everything was going to be okay. Bobby just nodded, his jaw drawn tight, his eyes sad; he didn't agree with Dean, but he wasn't going to contradict him either.

"We're looking, Dean, and we'll keep looking until we find something."

"We've been looking for _months_, and we're no closer to finding an answer than we ever were. Maybe we should just accept that this is the way I'm going to be…" Dean clenched his own jaw, physically reeling in the emotions that threatened to bubble over.

"So that's it? You're going to give up just like that? You're a stubborn son of a bitch- like your daddy, but I never figured you for a quitter, Dean."

Bobby went inside, slamming the screen door for emphasis. He turned the coffee maker on, hoping he hadn't been too harsh. He might not be into the touchy-feely crap, but he definitely had a soft spot for the Winchester boys; they were kind of like the sons he'd never had- but wished that he did.

It had been a while since he'd pulled an all-nighter, but he couldn't just go back to bed when someone who felt like family was so close to giving up.

Dean came inside an hour later and poured himself a mug of alertness, sliding into the seat across from Bobby. Sam was at the end of the table leafing through a book that looked about a century old.

Rifling through the cupboards, Dean found the loaf of bread Sam had bought earlier and slathered two thick slices with peanut butter and a healthy spreading of jelly. He cut it into four equal pieces- an odd habit he'd had since he was a kid; maybe his mother had done it that way.

Sam and Bobby tried not to stare as they watched him wolf down the quarters consecutively, pausing only to gulp down a tall glass of milk and make another sandwich. It was more than he'd seen his brother eat in weeks, and Sam couldn't help but wonder what had sparked the change.

Finally Dean stood up and belched loudly, wiping his palms on the front of his jeans.

"I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I'm ready to fight."

…

"What do you boys know about Numerology?" Bobby asked looking up from an ancient text whose pages looked ready to disintegrate if you stared at them too hard.

"It's good at picking numbers for the 649?"

"Not that newspaper astrology crap- real numerology," Bobby corrected, his eyes were tired, but they also held a glint of excitement. "In some cultures numbers are thought of as either good or evil, certain patterns can even grant a wish or predict the future. Some numbers are thought to bring luck, others misfortune- even death. There's a passage on numerological curses in this book. It's a bit of a long shot, but…"

"We've got nothing to lose," Dean said, urging the other man to continue.

"When did this all start?"

Sam flipped few a couple of notebook pages before telling him the exact date. Bobby jotted down the numbers on a fast food napkin.

"Where were you three days before that? In the afternoon?"

"Oregon… near Salem. I was at the library; Dean had a meeting with a professor at the university."

"What about?"

"A Native American legend- we were working a case and needed information on soul hunting."

"And…?" Bobby looked questioningly at the elder Winchester.

"Uh… well I went and talked to him that morning, actually. Met him at a coffee shop near the campus- he had some really good information, cracked the case wide open."

"You didn't tell me that," Sam muttered, looking annoyed. "Then what did you do while I was busting my ass reading all those dusty books?"

"I went to the dentist," Dean answered. He spoke the words quickly, and then stuffed a piece of one of Bobby's rock hard biscuits in his mouth, waiting the eternity it took for the chunk to dissolve- long enough for the angry torrent of words to finish flooding from his brother's mouth.

"And you didn't think to mention this before now? You go to a dentist and three days later your teeth start falling out? We've been driving all over the goddamned country, and you knew this all along!"

"Calm down, Sammy, you're getting that bulging neck vein thing again. I didn't mention it because I didn't end up seeing the dentist- I asked the secretary how much it would be to get a chipped tooth fixed and it was way more than I thought, so I just left."

Sam started breathing normally again, but he still looked annoyed.

"You still should have told me. All this mess, just because you were vain about your teeth."

Dean shrugged, not taking the bait. He knew a certain someone who bought shampoo three times as expensive as his, just for its 'root strengthening properties', _and_ it smelled like a pina colada. As far as he was concerned, _Samantha_ was in no position to judge.

"Did anything weird happen while you were in the office? Did you pick anything up?"

"No. I don't think so, I don't really remember. I just got in my car and drove back to pick up Sam."

Dean looked at his watch and did a quick mental calculation. "It's a twenty hour drive to Salem, but we might be able to do it in fifteen."

"Better make it ten. Three is a powerful number in numerology… this started three days after you were at the clinic, and all your teeth were gone by the end of the month- around three weeks. It's three months to the day this afternoon, and if this is a numerological curse, which I'm pretty sure it is…"

"We need to counteract the curse by three o'clock this afternoon," Sam finished, his heart sinking at yet another bad piece of news. "Ten hours? Not even lead foot over here can drive that fast."

"Hey, I never speed in my baby," Dean began to protest before Bobby interrupted him.

"I've been meaning to show you boys something I've been working on…"

Bobby motioned for them to follow him outside and into the garage. Making his way over to a large covered mound, he yanked the tarp off unceremoniously to reveal a strange looking vehicle. The tires were wider and thicker than normal, and the body was as streamlined as a race car. Apart from being electric blue it kind of looked like the bat mobile. Bobby grinned at it with pride, like a parent watching their child take its first steps.

The brothers stood there for a moment in silent awe at the magnificent ride before Dean declared with the broadest, toothless smile any of them had ever seen,

"You are so the man, Bobby."

…

They got to Salem in record time, sticking mainly to back country roads where they wouldn't be spotted, and breaking a few land speed records along the way.

They reached the dental clinic before it closed- Sam pretending to inquire about dentures while the other two combed the office for clues.

"Well?" he asked when they'd stepped outside.

"I hope fake teeth are reasonably priced, because I sure as hell didn't see anything," Dean growled, spraying a bit of saliva as he spat out the words.

"Dude, that was gross."

"So is your face," Dean mumbled lamely.

"What about you, Bobby? _Bobby_?" Sam looked around in confusion- the man had been right beside him a second ago.

Dean nudged him with an elbow and pointed to a grove of trees in the lot behind the parking lot. Bobby was a good nine feet off the ground, having shinnied the trunk like grizzly, sitting in the crook of a branch while he examined the bark.

"What is this place?" Sam asked his brother, curiously. "It's all office buildings around here, kind of a weird place to have a park… but why would they just leave that lot empty?"

They were walking now in and around the small grove of trees. There was a giant marble angel holding a sundial in the centre, and dozens of benches ringing the statue, each with a plaque on the back of the seat.

"In loving memory…? Oh shit, the bodies aren't here are they?" Dean said, looking around distastefully; he was used to corpses and skeletons, but he preferred them to be corralled in a cemetery, not strewn about willy-nilly.

"No Dean, they're memorial benches. The person's relatives paid for the bench, and they put the name of their loved one on the plaque."

"I don't get it… they're dead- they don't need to sit down… What's the point?"

"But their families… I guess it gives them a nice place to go and remember. And it's beautiful here with all the trees, not creepy like a graveyard."

Dean paused to consider this. What if they had had a bench for his mom? If his father had stopped looking for someone to blame and just tried to hold onto the memory of his wife… how would their lives be different today?

Bobby sauntered over to them a few minutes later, brushing pine needles off his jacket and plucking a leaf from his hair.

"Trees are clean, no carvings or markings as far as I can see."

Sam and Dean turned and nodded, neither one explaining the silence that had come over them; neither sure if he could.

"What's gotten into you two?"

"It's the cedar," Sam said after blinking a few times.

Dean nodded, "Yeah uh, just allergies."

"Find anything?" Bobby asked, looking around.

"All these memorial benches… maybe someone buried a lock of hair or something under one of them," Sam ventured, looking at Dean to see if he had come up with anything.

His brother just shrugged, "There's like a hundred benches. We'll never salt and burn them all in," he paused to look at his watch, "an hour."

"We might not have to," Bobby said, moving into the centre of the clearing and looking at the reflection of light on the face of the sundial. Turning himself slightly to one side of the beam he moved forward in a straight line several paces to the edge of the memorials.

"This is three o'clock, but there are only two benches… I guess I expected there to be three," Bobby said looking puzzled.

Dean looked horrified at the beam of light and then at where Bobby stood.

"Keep walking."

Bobby looked even more confused, but did as he was told. He walked past the benches and through the trees until he ended up back in the parking lot.

"So what? It's just cement," Sam said, peering down at the concrete before them.

"That's exactly where I parked the impala when I came to the clinic… I'm the third bench," Dean said, with a horrified look on his face.

…

Sam and Bobby each take one of the three o'clock benches. Sam finds a lock of hair curled inside a locket buried a few inches beneath the soil under his plot. Once the remains are smoking he goes to help the older man.

Bobby waves him away, holding up a tiny tooth shaped pillow. Slipping a finger into the lace flapped pocket, he pulls out a small Ziploc bag of baby teeth, which he examines for a moment, expression grave- a bittersweet victory.

"It's hard to lose a child… but we can't keep them here once their gone, either," he said regretfully, emptying the bag into a shallow grave and pouring in salt and gasoline. He struck a match and dropped it on the pile.

He stood there for a moment, staring into space looking lost and sad, as though he'd forgotten why they were there in the first place.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked uncertainly, not sure whether to offer comfort or leave the man alone.

"Just allergies," Bobby said with a rueful smile, swiping his eyes with a handkerchief and standing back to watch the blaze.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, realizing his brother wasn't amongst the benches, or even in the clearing.

"I thought he was with you," Bobby said, surveying the area with suspicion.

Sam dialled his brother's cell, frowning when it went straight to voicemail.

"I'll check the woods, you look in the parking lot," Bobby yelled, running off into the trees with his shotgun raised.

For once Sam was thankful to have mile long legs; even though it was a bitch to find pants, they were a godsend in situations like this. He reached the parking lot in no time, bounding over tree roots and shoving branches aside as he ran.

"Shit," Sam cursed when he reached the edge of the grove.

Dean lay face down on the cement within the painted lines of a stall, struggling against the opaque form of a bearded young man with suspenders pinning him to the ground.

Sam shot at the spirit, giving Dean a chance to escape while the apparition dodged away. Bobby came running towards them carrying a sledgehammer, which would have been terrifying if they didn't consider him their pseudo-dad. The Winchesters surrounded the older man, fending off the spirits with round after round of rock salt while Bobby broke up the cement.

Dean tried to fire his rifle, but the spirit was too quick, hurling him backwards into a tree where he landed on his back. Sam tried to run towards his brother, but suddenly the spirit was attacking him. He tried to pry the invisible hands from his throat, silently wondering why every evil thing seemed intent upon strangling him. Bobby had finally cleared the cement, and began digging furiously.

A clean shot penetrated the apparition, and a piercing scream filled the air as it dissipated. Sam gasped for breath, raising his shotgun and looking around wildly.

Dean dangled precariously upside down, the spirit, this one of a pretty young woman with a slight frame, lifting him effortlessly by an ankle. He was a few feet above the ground and rising quickly when she started to fade.

Flames licked the shallow grave, and Bobby laid dripping in sweat amongst the rubble of broken concrete.

Dean fell back to earth with a sickening thud, as both of the spirits vanished into mist.

They laid there in silence for a few seconds, before Sam's watch started beeping. He jumped a little in surprise, before remembering that he had set it.

For three o'clock.

…

"So the curse should be broken, right? All the spirits are gone now…"

Bobby nodded as though this point was pretty obvious.

"Then what about my teeth?" Dean curled his lips back in a gummy fake smile to illustrate his point.

"It was a death curse, Dean. I think the tooth thing was a bonus…"

"Yeah, I really hit the jackpot this time," Dean said smirking. It sucked about his teeth, but for the moment he was glad just to be alive.

"The thing I don't get is why you were supposed to die, at all. There were already remains under all three of the 'benches'," Sam said thoughtfully.

"Two spirits in the last one," Dean corrected.

"I guess you were the third."

…

They started to drive back to South Dakota with Bobby. Dean still thought the 'bat mobile' was badass, and he was glad they'd solved the case, although he still grieved the loss of his teeth; his looks had been his last vestige of normalcy. Sam was the brainy one, he had the looks.

Now he was a freak through and through.

They stopped at a diner in Idaho, Bobby and Sam eagerly stuffing themselves with cheeseburgers (they'd skipped lunch, after all) while Dean sipped a milkshake.

"You're not hungry?" Sam asked a bit concerned; he hoped his brother wasn't going to descend into some sort of depression since they hadn't found a cure. He was happy just to have his brother alive- he didn't care if he had horns and a tail at this point, his appearance was irrelevant.

Dean shrugged and took another sip- his mouth kind of hurt, and the cold was soothing.

"Mind your own business," he mumbled with irritation; he had no teeth- he was allowed to be a little cranky.

Bobby started telling Sam about a case he'd worked last year in Michigan, gracefully steering the conversation away from Dean's apparent lack of appetite.

The rest of the drive was completed in near silence. Bobby put in a Metallica tape when they reached the Nebraska border (although both boys knew he'd never been a fan) and Dean was lulled into a restless sleep. Sam smirked at the irony of having a cassette player in such a futuristic looking car, but kept his comments to himself. He was relieved to see his brother finally getting some rest. He was relieved that it was over.

…

The following evening, Bobby cooked them all bacon and eggs. Arriving back early and going straight to bed had screwed up their internal clocks, and it didn't seem right to eat the famous Singer-recipe spaghetti for 'breakfast'.

Sam had found two obituaries in the Oregon museum's online archive, and he was pretty sure they belonged to the two bodies in the parking lot.

"This couple, Millie and Jack Horner… they went missing fifty years ago around the time the area was being developed. No bodies were ever found. I bet the killer just covered them with a little dirt and let the cement pourers do the rest."

Dean nodded disinterestedly from his place on the couch; he'd been crabby since they'd arrived home, and didn't want to think about the case anymore. What was the point? It was just like his brother to beat a dead horse.

"And listen to this," Sam continued excitedly, "Jack Horner was a dentist, and his wife Millie was his assistant. That can't just be a coincidence, can it?"

"Rarely is," Bobby said thoughtfully. They all tucked into the food, the matter temporarily forgotten.

…

"Dude, you are totally drooling," Sam said, for what had to be the tenth time that day.

Dean made a disgusting slurping noise as he startled half awake, then rolled over and started chewing on the cuff of his sleeve.

Sam was worried about his brother. He slept poorly, so he was always sneaking catnaps during the day, he was irritable as hell, and he didn't eat enough. His confidence seemed to be coming back, thankfully, as he'd flirted with the waitress at the truck stop last night; they'd even got free pie. Maybe it was just taking him time to adjust.

**decreased appetite, **

**irritability, **

**drooling,**

**sleep problems**

Typing Dean's symptoms into the search field, he clicked enter and waited for the virtual diagnosis.

The answer came a few seconds later, and Sam stared disbelievingly at the screen for a moment before erupting into laughter.

"Dean, you're teething!"

"Shut up Sammy…" Dean mumbled through the soggy wad of fabric, annoyed at the disruption.

"No, I mean it! All your symptoms match- maybe the curse was reversed, but it's just taking time for the new teeth to come in." Sam grinned widely, looking like he'd just found a pair of shoes he liked that actually fit.

"You think?" Dean sat up, his eyes so hopeful looking that Sam prayed he was right.

A week later Dean's lower two front teeth emerged, followed by the incisors. Dean was so happy he almost didn't mind that Sam was scouring parenting websites for information.

"Chew on this rag, I put it in the freezer," Sam said, handing him a cloth. Now that he knew the reason for his brother's symptoms, he'd been relentless in trying to help; and frankly, it was getting old pretty fast.

"Enough with the hovering, man," Dean said, spraying saliva everywhere, which made it harder to appear dignified. Sam smirked at his brother who responded by flipping him the bird.

"The article said you would be cranky," Sam said, looking back at his laptop.

"Bite me."

_The End_


End file.
